


I Wa-Wa-Want What You Wa-Wa-Want

by ohmcgee



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-03
Updated: 2010-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wa-Wa-Want What You Wa-Wa-Want

_Libo_

  
Ray's leaning in the doorway when Brad picks up the phone and starts dialing.

"You know, Brad." He says and Brad looks up at him with that expectant look on his face, like he knows Ray's about to say something stupid or inappropriate or both. "You could just get naked and let me go down on you. I mean, it'd save you a lot of money, homes."

Brad rolls his eyes and turns his body away from Ray when the person on the other line answers. "Yes, I'd like to speak to Yvonne."

"Suit yourself," Ray shrugs, sliding his glasses over his eyes. "Don't say I never offered."

  
_Matilda_

  
Brad walks up on Ray jerking off behind their tent. He figures either all the latrines were occupied or Ray's just that depraved. Actually, on second thought, its definitely the latter.

"Jesus Christ, Ray. I know your white trash, trailer dwelling kin didn't teach you any decency, but I at least thought the fucking corps would have taught you when and where to pull your dick out."

Ray bites the fist in his mouth, moans a little around it. "Keep talking Brad, I'm almost there."

"Put it away, Ray." Brad sighs. "We need to go over the MSR."

"Fuck yeah, I love it when you talk dirty to me, Brad."

"Degenerate," Brad mutters. "You got sixty seconds to get your ass in the tent, Person."

Ray's grunt tells Brad he doesn't need that long.

  
_Iraq_

  
"You're too fuckin' tense, dude. You need to lighten up a little bit. Sure, Trombley killed a kid and the camel he rode in on and command's going to be all up in your gravy about it and Fick's having his man period, but its not _that_ bad. I mean. We could be down to one meal a day because some fucknuts officer left it for the hadjis to get fat on. Oh wait."

"Ray," Brad says underneath the victor. "Shut the _fuck_ up."

Ray grins. That's the most he's gotten out of Brad in six hours. Ray's so excited he drops down in the orange-red dirt to his stomach and rest his chin on his hands. "You know what you need Brad?"

Brad doesn't acknowledge that Ray's even there, much less that he's talking to him. Just keeps beating on the undercarriage like its doing any good.

"I mean, do you know what a really excellent remedy for this shit is?" A beat, and maybe, just maybe, he lowers his voice a few notches. "My mouth on your cock."

Brad blinks; Ray doesn't miss it.

"Ray," he says, carefully and measured. He purposely does not look at Ray.

"Yes, Brad?" Ray asks, grinning; if he were a puppy, he'd be wagging his tail right about now.

"Get my fucking dip and shut the fuck up."

_Stateside_

  
Nate takes Bravo Company out for drinks once they get back home, and no marine is going to turn down free alcohol, so they pretty much pack the place, but after an hour or two its beginning to thin out. Christensen and Q-Tip are playing darts in the corner, Walt disappeared to the bathroom with a blonde hot on his heels about ten minutes ago, and Ray's drunk ass is swiveling on the bar stool next to Brad's, ranting about the state of the nation one second, then pausing to wax poetic on the art that is the onion blossom.

"Ray?" Brad says his name like a question and waits for Ray to stop spinning before he continues. "What can I do to get you to stop talking for two fucking seconds?"

Ray reaches over and slips the bottle out of Brad's hand. "There are ways," he says, winking at Brad before licking the rim of the bottle, then taking a long pull from it.

Brad turns away from him and stands up, reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, slapping a fifty on the bar top for the bartender to collect. "We're leaving," he says pointedly.

"But I'm not finished with your beer." Ray smiles crookedly and Brad yanks him off the bar stool by the arm.

"Now."

  
_Brad's House_

  
"I like it," Ray says, looking around. The ceilings are high and the walls are bare for the most part. There's minimal furniture in the living room, just enough for Brad and maybe one other person to be comfortable. Brad doesn't like having guests over, so it works. "Very you. Very Spartan."

Ray's breath gets knocked out of him when Brad shoves him against the wall. "Whoa," Ray coughs, Brad pinning his shoulders to the wall. "He likes it rough - noted. Can't say it comes as a surprise, though."

"Jesus Christ. Just _stop_." Brad looks tired, like he wants to pull out his hair. "You need to fucking cut it out with all this gay shit, Ray. Its not cute anymore."

"Its not meant to be _cute_, Sergeant. I'm not twelve. Unless you're into that kind of thing. Hey, I don't judge."

"I said _stop._"

"What exactly is it you want me to stop?" Ray asks, cocking an eyebrow at him curiously. Brad's face is just a few inches from his own; he notices the change in Brad's breathing, the rapid, erratic pattern.

"What I want," Brad says, slowly blinking. "Is for you to stop being such a fucking cocktease."

Ray stares at him for a couple of seconds in disbelief. "You want..."

"I want you to do everything you said you wanted to," Brad murmurs. "All of it. Starting with your mouth."

Ray stares at Brad again. Brad, tall and gorgeous and the best marine he's ever known. Ray frowns. "You're fucking with me," he says, shaking his head, trying to get out of Brad's grasp. "Not cool, Brad. So not fucking cool."

Brad shuts Ray up with his mouth, pressed hard and hot against Ray's, cupping his hand around Ray's jaw and persuading his mouth open with a slip of his tongue. "I'm not fucking with you, Ray." He whispers, dragging his thumb over Ray's bottom lip. "Not yet, anyway. I thought we'd start with a blowjob and see where it takes us."

Ray lets out a sudden, hysterical laugh, then covers his mouth. "Sorry, sorry. Its just. You're serious? You really wanna do this? With me?"

Brad sighs, gets that same look on his face when Ray's being a fucking retard about something, then goes down on his knees.

"Oh God, what are you doing?" Ray's lips stumble over his words nervously as Brad thumbs open his jeans, slides the zipper down, pulls them down off his hips along with his briefs.

"Shutting you up," Brad grins up at him, wrapping his fingers around the base of Ray's cock and taking it into his mouth.

Its amazing. Besides the cacophony of pants, gasps, broken moans, and delicious, desperate whimpers that occasionally escape his lips, getting his dick sucked actually does shut Ray up. No dirty talk, no filthy commentary on the merits of Brad's tongue or an instruction manual on how to cover his teeth or knead his balls just so. Just soft, breathy noises and Ray's hand firm on the back of his head, guiding but not forcing his movements. The only word he says is Brad's name, gritted out between his teeth when his cock hits the back of Brad's throat and he comes, nearly sobbing out his orgasm.

The silence doesn't last long.

"Jesus Christ, Brad." Ray says, tucking his dick back into his briefs, then pulling up his jeans. "You could've fucking told me or something, Christ. I drove your ass around a desert country, got shot at, had to deal with the retards in charge of the whole clusterfuck AND your bipolar bitchass moodswings, all the while sporting the world's most epic blueballs when you could've been sucking my dick the whole time? I am so removing you from my facebook, homes."

"I had to keep you sharp," Brad explains. "If something had happened to you." He pauses thoughtfully. "I needed you to be sharp, Ray."

"Yeah. Well. You've got a lot of making up to do, Brad. I'm sayin."

"I've got a full week of leave." Brad offers.

Ray contemplates this for a moment. "That might make up for all those times you walked around Matilda without a shirt on. But its a start."

Brad grins. "You really were jerking off to me, weren't you?"

"Fuck yeah, I was! Your back, all those fucking tattoos. Jesus Brad, you were like a walking, breathing wet dream. I'm surprised I could even muster up enough brain power to get a fork to my mouth. Obviously, I'm superhuman."

"Yeah well, start putting those superhuman powers to use on my cock."

"Actually," Ray says, digging into his pocket. He pulls out a condom and a small tube of lubricant. "I was hoping we could go to the bedroom and you'd fuck me till I scream so loud I wake the neighbors?"

Brad groans, has to press the heel of his hand firmly to the base of his cock to stave off the building orgasm he feels just thinking about Ray all tight around him, moaning and writhing. "How does the living room floor sound?"

Ray grins. "Even better."

  
_Brad's bed, the next morning_

  
"What are you doing?' Brad leans up on his elbows, wipes the sleep out of his eyes. Ray's kneeling between his legs, tracing his fingers up and down the length of Brad's cock. It's only half hard, but Ray's working to change that.

"Its Sunday," Ray says, like that explains it. "Sunday is a day of worship. And I am going to spend the whole fucking day worshipping your cock."

Brad lets out a loud, shaky groan when Ray's hot mouth closes over him. He reaches for hair to grab onto, but there isn't any so he settles for palming the back of Ray's head, fucking his mouth gently. Ray pushes his tongue into the slit and licks away the drops of clear release he milks out, then looks up at Brad and slides his mouth all the way down his length. Brad's already embarrassed by how quick he's going to come, especially if Ray keeps looking up at him like that, through those long, dark eyelashes as his cock bumps the back of his throat.

Ray edges Brad's legs apart and slips one of his own fingers into his mouth briefly before slipping it between Brad's cheeks. Brad's body stiffens, but then Ray's tongue does something amazing to his balls and he's relaxing, letting Ray do whatever he wants to do as long as he never fucking stops.

"Jesus Christ," Brad pants as Ray works a second finger in next to that one, his other hand flat against Brad's stomach, holding him steady, still bobbing up and down on his cock while he fingers Brad's ass.

When he feels the muscle in Brad's stomach begin to ripple and contract, Ray pulls his mouth off of Brad and spreads him out even wider, watching his cock bob up and down as Brad fucks himself down on Ray's fingers.

"I am going to fuck you just like this later," Ray murmurs, biting the inside of Brad's thigh. "Spread you open for me, tongue your hole 'till you're begging to have my cock inside you."

"You could do that _now,_" Brad grits out impatiently; Ray chuckles.

"Not this time, Brad. This time you're gonna come on my fingers, that's it."

Brad huffs, sighs, shoves down harder onto Ray's fingers. "At least give me more, then."

Ray's eyes widen. "Brad, you little slut. I had no idea." Ray grins and reaches on the nightstand, pulls his fingers out of Brad and adds a dollop of lube, pushing three of them inside of him this time. Brad fists the sheets between his fingers as Ray stretches him open, feels the burn and the ache, but it doesn't keep him from fucking down against those long fingers inside of him.

"Fuck you look so hot, I wish you could see this," Ray is mumbling, watching his fingers disappear inside of Brad again and again. "All stretched out around my fingers, so fucking hot, Brad."

"Harder," Brad mutters, eyes closed, fists balled up next to his sides. A loud moan unexpectedly escapes his lips when Ray complies, hitting his prostate on one thrust.

"Like that, baby?" Ray murmurs, lifting Brad's leg over his shoulder for a different angle, trying to get his fingers to brush against that same spot again.

"Fuck," Brad swears. "There, right fucking there.."

Ray grins along Brad's calf as Brad writhes beneath him, sweat dripping off his neck and shoulders onto the sheets. "Come on, Brad," he encourages him. "Come for me, come all over yourself so I can clean it off you with my tongue."

"Oh _fuck,_" Brad fucking _whimpers_ and clamps down around Ray's fingers as his dick spurts and twitches, painting his stomach and chest with stripes of white, milky come.

Ray eases his fingers out and makes good on his promise, dipping his head down to clean every inch of Brad's soft, sensitive cock, relishing the sounds it draws out of his mouth, a mixture of pleasure and desperation.

When he's done, Ray collapses on the bed next to Brad, rests his hand on Brad's sweat-slick thigh. "How was that for worship?" He asks, smug.

Brad yawns and puts his hand on top of Ray's. "A-fucking-men."


End file.
